Who Else Would I Call?
by Lastew
Summary: : John sees Sherlock repeatedly entering a number into his phone, but when he questions Sherlock about it, Sherlock is evasive. What's going on here?


Title: Who Else Would I Call?

Author's Name: Laura Sichrovsky

Fandom: Sherlock

Rating: PG

Word Count: 2528

Pairing: None

Warnings: None. (Well, one minor swear word.)

Spoilers: None really.

Summary: John sees Sherlock repeatedly entering a number into his phone, but when he questions Sherlock about it, Sherlock is evasive. What's going on here?

Disclaimer: This is where I put the statement saying that I do not own John or Sherlock, (Heh! I wish!), or anything relating to the show or books. No one is paying me to do this and if you feel the sudden urge to send me gifts, you might want to talk to someone about that. Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat own all things _Sherlock_ and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle owns Holmes and Watson. None of them have given me permission to use these characters as I have so if you have problems with the story, please send the pretzel bombs to me, not them. (Though if you could actually send a pretzel bomb to ACD, I'd be impressed.)

Author's Notes: My friend Elin wrote a brilliant story called _Watching the Northern Lights_. In it, Sherlock makes passing mention of learning John's number by muscle memory, in case he needed to dial when he wasn't completely with it. Somehow that stuck with me and here is the result. Thanks need to be given, and here is where they go. Thanks to Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat for giving me a Sherlock I can get behind. Thanks to Benedict Cumberbatch for making this Sherlock so amazing. I tried to fight it, but he was just too remarkable not to fall for. Big thank yous to Emma de los Nardos and Gemma for the super-fast beta jobs. I owe you both so much! Thank you to Elin for reading this over for me and letting me steal the idea. And my biggest thank yous to my guiding influence and my best friend, Ann. She's the best beta ever and the Sherlock to my John. Without her, I am nothing. (Couldn't do it without you, love. Wouldn't want to try.)

Who Else Would I Call?

The first time John notices Sherlock's annoying new habit, they are having a quiet night of television. Well, John is having a quiet night of television; Sherlock is sitting at the other end of the couch playing with his phone. John is trying to watch _Top Gear_ when his attention is pulled away by Sherlock tapping furiously on his mobile. At first John thinks he's texting, but when he glances over, he realizes that Sherlock is inputting the same eleven numbers over and over again. From this angle, John can't see what they are, but he sees that Sherlock isn't hitting the send button. He's just dialing the phone number, canceling, then dialing again. John tries to ignore it, but as it's perfectly placed in his peripheral vision, it's rather distracting. John turns to look at Sherlock.

"What are you doing?"

"Hm?" Sherlock looks up, frowning.

John gestures to the phone and Sherlock arches an eyebrow.

"Is it for a case?" John asks.

"I think it will be very important."

John frowns. That really didn't tell him anything, so he tries again.

"Whose number is that?"

Sherlock just smiles and John grumbles to himself as he goes back to his show, pointedly ignoring his mad flatmate.

xxxxxxx

For the rest of the week, every time John sees Sherlock, he's repeatedly typing that number into his phone. John just about draws the line when Sherlock continues it all through dinner, but as Sherlock still carries on a reasonably pleasant conversation, he lets it go. John will ask about it occasionally, but he just gets that evasive smile. Ah, well, Sherlock does some odd things in the name of The Work; at least nothing's on fire this time.

It doesn't really get weird until the following Monday when John comes home from work to find Sherlock on his knees in front of the coffee table, holding his hands behind his back, and attempting to dial his phone with his nose.

"What are you doing?" John asks, not sure he actually wants to hear the answer.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Sherlock snaps.

"Something insane?" John says, trying not to laugh.

Sherlock looks up and glares at him.

"This isn't funny, John. Lives could depend on this."

_Don't they always?_ John thinks, but he doesn't say it out loud.

"Still not going to tell me what this is about?" John asks, hanging his coat on the back of the door.

Sherlock just about growls at him and John deduces that the experiment isn't going according to plan. He just stands and looks at Sherlock.

"I told you…"

"It's for a case," John finishes for him. "Yeah, I know."

"Then why are you asking?" Sherlock says, moving on to trying to dial with his chin.

John watches him in silence for another minute or two, then he frowns as a question occurs to him.

"Couldn't you just put that number on your speed-dial?"

Sherlock sits back on his heels, sighing.

"I do have it on speed-dial." Sherlock frowns down at his phone. "But what if I have to use a different phone or can't use the speed-dial?"

"And dialing the number over and over accomplishes what?" John asks, trying very hard to understand.

"I'm committing the feel of dialing it to memory."

"Why?"

"It might be important," Sherlock says, shaking his head. "This really isn't working. I need to rethink it."

Sherlock gets to his feet, picking up his phone. Before John can ask anything else, Sherlock walks out of the room, muttering to himself, leaving John alone with his confusion.

xxxxxxxx

John finally has to object when he comes home to find Sherlock holding a handkerchief over his nose. John can smell the cloying scent of Chloroform from halfway across the room. He strides over, pulling the cloth away from Sherlock.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Sherlock blinks up at him, his eyes unfocused and John starts to swear. He opens the window and helps Sherlock over to it.

"But wait," Sherlock says, his voice slightly slurred. "This is going to ruin the exercise."

"You dying might ruin it a bit too," John snaps, trying to calm himself.

But Sherlock is looking around the room, frowning.

"Where's my phone? I need to practice dialing."

"Now?" John refrains from adding 'you idiot' to the end of the question, but just barely.

"Yes, now." Sherlock sounds frustrated and John puts a hand on his shoulder to calm him down. Sherlock pulls away, glaring at him. "You don't understand. I need to know that I can dial it, even if I'm not in my right mind."

Enough is enough for John and he decides it's time to put his foot down.

"You're done with all this," he says firmly.

"John, lives may depend on this," Sherlock says dismissively.

"Yes, I know," John sighs. "But this is going too far. I refuse to come home and find you passed out or dead over a bloody phone number. No more."

"But, John…"

"No!" John takes a deep breath. "What is so important about this number?"

"I need to know that I can dial it, no matter what happens," Sherlock says quietly. "I need to make my fingers memorize the pattern, I need to make it my default setting when I dial. Lives may depend on me being able to call this number, no matter how injured or confused I am."

John looks at him, his eyes narrowing. Who in the world would Sherlock put so much faith in?

"Okay, whose number is that? Don't tell me it's Mycroft."

"Of course not," Sherlock says dismissively. "He might be useful on occasion, but he's the last person I'd willingly call in an emergency."

"It is Lestrade?" John knows this questioning is silly, but he can't help himself.

"You know the police are incompetent, John, even Lestrade. He has his moments, but I'd never want to put my life in his hands."

"Then who is it?"

"Why is this so important to you?" Sherlock asks, tipping his head and looking at John.

John looks away, not knowing how to answer the question. He honestly has no idea why this is getting under his skin. He wants to say it's curiosity. It's interesting that Sherlock has someone, that John knows nothing about, that he would call on for help. John wonders who this mysterious person is and how Sherlock knows them. An old friend? An old lover? But that leads John to less comfortable thoughts and if he really thinks on it, he admits that it might be jealousy. It bothers him on some level that there is someone that Sherlock trusts this much and it's made worse that John doesn't know anything about this person. John sighs.

"Can't you just tell me? Does everything have to be an argument?" John looks at the floor, trying not to feel hurt by this exclusion.

"Do I really need to tell you?" Sherlock asks quietly.

John looks at him, wanting to give him his privacy, but still agonizing over who this important person might be. He closes his eyes and nods. When he opens his eyes, Sherlock is walking over to the coffee table. He picks up his phone and looks at John for a moment before dialing the number.

John just about jumps out of his skin when his pocket starts ringing. His eyes go wide and he pulls his phone out, not at all surprised to see Sherlock's name on the screen. Sherlock pushes a button and John's phone stops ringing. John looks at Sherlock.

"I don't understand."

"It isn't that complicated," Sherlock says, putting his phone down.

"But all that stuff you said about saving lives and the number being so important…"

"Yes?"

"Well, what makes you think calling me would do any of that?"

Sherlock looks at him, his expression intense.

"John, what would you do if I called and said I was trapped and bleeding?"

"I'd call Lestrade and then I'd come find you."

"Exactly," Sherlock says with a smile. "And you'd do the same if I said I was in a building with thirty people and a bomb. If there is anyone I know who would risk their life to save others, it's you. Who else would I call if I was really in trouble?"

John is speechless. Whatever he was expecting Sherlock to say, this isn't it. Sherlock tips his head a bit, really looking at John.

"You don't understand your worth." It's not a question and Sherlock barely takes a breath before going on. "If I called Mycroft, he would send in the troops and wait by his phone for news. And then I'd get a lecture afterwards about how reckless I am. If I called Lestrade, he would gather all his people and do the best he could to lead them into battle. And his lecture would be only slightly less tedious than Mycroft's. If I called you, you would mobilize everyone you could think of and then come and dig me out of the rubble with your bare hands if you had to. You would put your own life at risk to get to me and then you would personally take care of me until I was well enough to lecture. You would put all else aside and do everything short of selling your soul to save me, and I'm not entirely sure you wouldn't do that. There is no one else I trust as much."

John takes a deep breath, trying to keep his emotions in check. He had no idea that he meant this much to Sherlock. It's not something they ever talk about. He looks at his friend and smiles.

"Well, as long as you understand that the lecture would come eventually."

"I'd expect nothing less," Sherlock says solemnly. "I'd feel cheated if I didn't get it."

"Not that you'll listen."

"Of course I'll listen. I won't remember it, but I will listen."

"Idiot," John says, lightly punching Sherlock's arm.

"Mother hen," Sherlock retorts. John arches an eyebrow at him.

"That's the best you can do? You have a genius IQ and that's the insult you come up with?"

"It does fit," Sherlock says, dismissively. "If you can't appreciate its perspicuity, I can't be blamed."

John shakes his head, chuckling.

"Yes, then. So, your experiment worked?"

"As far as I've taken it," Sherlock replies, settling on the sofa. "I suppose I won't know for sure until I have to call under adverse conditions."

"Well, let's hope you never have to use that particular skill," John says, sitting down next to him. "Although it's not really a bad idea, on the whole."

"With our dangerous lives? It's really not. You might consider learning to do it yourself, you know."

"I already know my phone number, thank you." John says, stifling a laugh.

"You know exactly what I'm saying," Sherlock replies, rolling his eyes. "And with as many times as you've been kidnapped, you should start practicing now."

"And whose number would I memorize?" John asks, keeping his expression neutral.

"Mine, of course," Sherlock says, as if the whole thing is decided.

"I don't know," John replies, his voice as serious as he can make it. "Maybe I should keep my options open. I mean, I'm sure Molly could be useful in a pinch. Or Mycroft. Just because you two don't get on doesn't mean having the British government on speed-dial is a bad idea."

Sherlock harrumphs at John, crossing his arms and looking away.

"Fine. Whatever. Just as long as you practice calling _someone_," he says, picking up his phone off the table, getting up to leave.

John smiles to himself pulling out his phone and dialing a number. He hesitates a minute, then pushes the connect button. Sherlock's phone starts ringing as he walks out of the room. After a second, the ringing stops.

"Knew it'd be me," the smug voice says by way of greeting. His voice sounds hollow and echoy over the phone.

"Yes, well, who else would _I_ trust?" John says quietly. It's easier to say when he can't see Sherlock. "Because I know you'd sell your soul for me as well. If you had one."

Sherlock chuckles, the sound oddly disjointed as John realizes he can hear it in his ear and drifting from the hall just outside the door.

"Fair point." Sherlock pauses for a minute. "Dinner? Take away and maybe a movie?"

"Sounds good. Chinese?"

"Call it in?" Sherlock asks, "You do have your phone out, after all."

"Right. And you don't." John can't keep from smiling. He looks up, feeling eyes on him, and sees Sherlock watching him around the doorframe. John's smile gets bigger. "Fine. But I get to pick the movie."

Sherlock gives a long suffering sigh, but John can see that he's smiling too.

"If you must. But none of those tedious science fiction films that you seem so fond of. And no James Bond."

"Spoil sport," John says, getting up and walking to the kitchen to look for a menu. He hears Sherlock's footsteps behind him, following him and he shakes his head, not turning around. "How about a suspense movie? I have one Mike let me borrow. It's rather new, but I understand it's good."

"What's it called?" There's a fraction of a delay over the phone, giving Sherlock's question an echo.

"_Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy_."

"The George Smiley novel?" Sherlock asks and John can feel him standing right behind him.

"Pretty sure, yeah." John pulls out a pen and makes notes of what to order.

"I suppose that sounds okay. I did like the book."

"You read the book?" John asks into the phone.

"Course I did."

"Wouldn't have thought it was your thing." John pauses a second. "You know I'm going to have to hang up now so we can phone in the order, right?"

"Tired of talking to me?" Sherlock asks, and John can hear the laughter in his voice.

"No, just starving." He turns around to face Sherlock. "And it's not as if we can't carry on this conversation in person."

Sherlock nods, taking his phone away from his ear.

"Wouldn't want you to go hungry," Sherlock says, smiling at John. "You get grumpy when your stomach grumbles."

"Yes, but I'm not likely to set your bed on fire, now am I?"

"That was an accident."

"Isn't it always?" But there's no real anger in John's voice.

Sherlock nods at him.

"Right then. You order the food and I'll set up the movie. Oh, and don't forget the soup?"

John returns the nod, going back to the menu. He feels like this whole conversation should seem odd, but it really doesn't and he's not sure what that means. He's also not entirely sure what it says about his sanity that he's planning on actually doing that dialing practice. Later, of course, when he's in his room where Sherlock can't see. John wouldn't want Sherlock to get too smug about being right. His train of thought is cut off as the phone is answered and he concentrates on getting their order right.

The End

Note: This story just would NOT leave me alone and I got the image of John having to go rescue Sherlock stuck in my head. So, there is a story that is somewhat related to this one, called, What Wouldn't I Do for You that you can hunt up here on FF in my stories. Thanks for reading!


End file.
